Short Stories By Various Authors
by Rockerduck
Summary: A collection of short stories by Parchmentrose and Rockerduck.
1. How Does She Know, by Rockerduck

**How Does She Know?**

Author: Rockerduck

Spoilers for _everything_. Well, duh.

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><p>.<p>

_"Look into your heart for the answer."_  
><em>- Lady Alandra<em>

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Tock. Tock.

Alandra did not look up or turn her head. She was very aware of the sound's origin. She merely listened as it approached her from behind.

Tock tock.

Slowly coming closer. Metal clicking on polished marble floor.

The young woman pictured the winged hardwood doors, always open at this time of day. Inviting as they may be, she was mildly surprised. The small, beautifully decorated chapel rarely attracted visitors. Save herself, of course.

Tock.

Definitely not this visitor. She turned her head, nodding a greeting to Sabatt.

Sabatt, in response, inclined her head and moved into the row behind the one Alandra occupied. She sat down in one smooth, elegant motion and put her cane across her knees.

"Is someone looking for me?" asked Alandra, keeping her voice low as not to disturb the peace of the place. It was ridiculous. They were alone in the chapel.

"The Castle hasn't burned down yet, don't you worry."

Alandra had expected one of Sabatt's usual mocking remarks – she was long used to them. She smirked briefly. "That's a relief. And what are you up to?"

"Charming. Do I look like I'm up to something?"

"You always do. No matter my efforts to dismiss the thought." She was perfectly able to respond in suit.

"Really. Tell me, then, what would you expect me to be up to?"

"Plotting. Always plotting." Another smirk. "I would like to be able to tell."

"It will have to remain my little secret until you figure out a way to look inside my head, won't it? It's not nearly as interesting as what is rattling around yours at present, I expect."

Alandra shrugged weakly. She made no effort to deny the obvious. She had been sitting inside the chapel for several hours now, spending her time trying to follow her own impossible trains of thoughts. She felt she hadn't made much progress. She was still running in circles, and the answers to her questions seemed to always slip from her mind as soon as she believed she finally pinpointed them. It was unnerving. Frustrating. Pointless.

Sabatt shifted slightly, leaning toward her with one of her more prying expressions. "Are you going to tell me or do we play a guessing game?"

Brief anger shot through Alandra's mind, but it didn't even last long enough for her to shoot the woman a warning glare. She sighed. The hours spent in silent pondering hadn't stilled her mind or doused her doubts; maybe it wasn't such a ridiculous notion. Maybe she simply had to voice her concerns to make sense of them. Maybe …

"It's Marcus," she muttered. "I just don't know what to do with him lately."

Sabatt didn't look surprised. She wouldn't be, thought Alandra.

"Of course it's Marcus. Has he done anything out of the ordinary lately?"

Alandra found herself scoffing. Sabatt watched her intently. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. It's just … he's just …" Alandra threw her hands up. She didn't even know what to respond. He was just being so …

"So boyish?"

… _childish. _She nodded tersely. "Yes, that. He's always giving me his puppy eyes, but he doesn't even try. I mean, it's like he's completely oblivious towards his clumsiness! He's turned into a walking hazard. Does he really expect me to clean up after him all day? He doesn't even seem to notice. Then he gives me the puppy eyes and expects me to act as if nothing had happened."

One side of Sabatt's mouth went up. Alandra could easily tell she was amused. And probably rightly so.

"I don't think he expects any such thing from you, Alandra. He has always been a walking hazard. And you, as his commander, were always inclined to clean up after him." Alandra was about to deny this accusation, but Sabatt continued.

"And this, I believe, is exactly the cause of your gloom. You're going to marry him – the boy who has been under your command for as long as you know him. And you suddenly realise he is no longer your inferior but going to be your equal. On all accounts. Marcus hasn't changed; only your perception of him has. You expect him to be an equal match – something he cannot become over night. You want him to take responsibility, to act more mature, you want a reliable partner instead of a clumsy little boy. Isn't that so?"

Alandra closed her mouth. She only now noticed she'd been staring at Sabatt, slack-jawed, too. She took an audible breath. Sabatt's head was cocked to the side. Alandra nodded meekly. "Yes," she said in a similar voice. "I think that … somehow, you may be right. Can't I expect him to lay off the immaturity now that we're going to …" She took another breath. Saying the words seemed so difficult all of a sudden. "We're going to be a married couple? Is it too much to expect? We're going to be a family, Sabatt, sooner or later; he has to take responsibility at some point. I can't drag him out of every hole he manages to get himself into, he has to –"

Again, Sabatt interrupted her. "My dear Alandra, you're having the blues over things yet to come. Highly impractical. Expectations, expectations." She chuckled. "Lay them off. Right away. This is not how to make your marriage work."

The anger returned. "Is it so wrong to have expectations about the man you're going to spend the rest of your life with? I'm not asking for much, Sabatt."

"Oh, but you are." Her smile was irritating. "You're asking him to lay off everything that defines him, you're asking for Marcus minus the traits that attracted you to him in the first place. Because you're afraid he's going to ruin _your _life, not live up to _your _expectations, and make _you _look like less than you feel you deserve to be by putting himself _and you _into awkward, embarrassing situations."

Words failed her. Alandra stared, mouth agape.

"Now, allow me a word of advice. If you're looking for someone who is utterly loyal and devoted to you, someone who never questions your motivations or decisions, someone who will always adore and comfort you without ever asking a single thing in return, get a pet dog. I've seen you two do impossible things together, and it's because you believed in each other. Marcus would go to the moon for you if you believed he could do it. It's the only reason you're both still alive now. And if you stop believing in him, even for a moment, then it's all over."

Sabatt got up, slowly lowering her wooden cane until the metal tip touched the ground.

She leaned on her walking aid, gaze fixing Alandra. "Don't be a fool. You were offered the greatest gift of all, the greatest gift any man could ever give, and you're about to question everything over useless ifs and whens. You rarely get a second chance in life. Believe me, Alandra, I know this. Seize yours and allow him to grow with you. He will not disappoint you. He may make mistakes, you will make mistakes, but this is what life is about. You're tossed into an ocean and you swim. Or you drown. Don't drown."

She gave a friendly nod. "Now excuse me while I take my leave before you notice the awkwardness of me telling you this."

She turned towards the illuminated doors.

Tock.

Tock. Tock.


	2. In Defense of Athos, by ParchmentRose

**In Defense of Athos**

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Author: Lord Marcus of Challia, with assistance from ParchmentRose.

**Author's Note:** When you're writing a character that is essentially the punching bag of the universe, something has to throw the punches. And, in the Settlers fandom, the duty of clobbering Marcus all too often goes to his innocent steed. Marcus would like to set the record straight.

Mild spoilers for my fic _Friendly Fire_.

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><p>.<p>

The others all think I'm nuts, and I guess it's possible that they're right. I mean, who would, when choosing a mount, _voluntarily_ pick the only horse to toss them three times? Not to mention actually _keep_ the animated dog meat when he dumps me on my backside every other day for years on end.

When I picked Athos out of the horses Alandra offered me, way back when, she thought I was crazy – she was certain I was much better picking a reliable, obedient steed like her Daria. But much as I respect Lani's opinion, I stuck to my guns. Fact is, I'm not a very good horseman. I'd be the first to admit it. I fell off a pony when I was ten and took a chunk of skin out of my elbow, and I've been having all kinds of equine-related accidents ever since. I fell off Athos twice in the first ten minutes I spent on his back, for example. Directly after that, however, when I tried some jousting practice runs against a dummy, _he attacked it_.Kicked it clean out of the ground. Without being told. Of course, that resulted in my ending up in the dirt again, but that's not the point. The point is that the horse showed initiative.

I'm a terrible rider – at least compared to Sabatt and Hakim, anyway – and if I had a super-obedient mount that never did something without me telling it to, I'd never get anything done. When I'm in battle with my life on the line, the last thing I want is to be distracted by needing to give my horse orders. I want a noble steed that can look after itself, thanks – and me, too, preferably. I need a horse with a brain that can, if necessary, get us out of a tight spot and participate in a battle – which Athos proved himself more than willing to do right from the outset.

And seriously, when has he ever let me down? Yeah, he tosses me all the time when I'm training, but whenever it's been genuinely dangerous, he's always pulled through. I've ridden him into battle time and again, and each time he's done almost as much to win the fight as I have. The only time he ever tossed me in battle was when we were being "ambushed" by Kes' men, so there was no real danger. It's almost like he _knows_ when it's important to behave. And as for the times when he doesn't think it's important … well, at least it keeps life interesting, right?

So, no matter how much Kes points and laughs or Sabatt smirks behind her hand, Athos isn't leaving Castle Vestholm's stables as long as I've got a say in the matter.

The lock on his stall door might need some modifications, though.


	3. Stuff And Sneezes, by ParchmentRose

**Stuff and Sneezes**

Author: ParchmentRose

**Author's Note:** Mild spoilers for Heatherek's _Time Heals._ But then, that particular spoiler shouldn't really be a surprise.

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><p>.<p>

_A family is a unit composed not only of children but of men, women, an occasional animal, and the common cold.__  
>- <em>_Ogden Nash_

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"Bleh."

Kestral blew her nose messily and noisily, then dumped her handkerchief on the desk. "Can't I hand this in next week?"

"No." Marcus didn't look up from his book.

The rain hammered on the leadlight window of Castle Vestholm's chart room. The young female knight was huddled at the desk in the corner, bleary-eyed and wishing she was in bed; while the infantry commander, dressed illogically in chainmail, was seated at the carved round table, intently focused on a hardback volume. How much of it he was taking in Kestral wasn't sure.

The foul weather was the only thing keeping the Knights inside. Thordal, Sabatt and Elias were in the city – probably at the Rook and Pony, Kestral thought enviously. Alandra was on business on the south coast, and Hakim was supposed to be returning that evening from a trip home. She'd wanted to go with him, but she'd had business in Gallos at the time.

"But I'm sick," she wheedled, half-forcing a cough. "I'm sure Her Majesty wouldn't mind if my report was handed in late."

"I promised her they'd all be done by ten tomorrow morning, and they'll be done if I have to do them myself."

She perked up. "Could you do mine?"

"No."

She scowled, then groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. She really _did_ have an absolutely splitting headache.

"_Alandra_ would do mine for me," she murmured.

"Low blow, Kes." He still didn't look up.

"Come on, Marcus. I'm practically dying over here."

"Drama queen." A pause. "Sabatt always hands in her reports on time."

"Low blow, Lackbeard."

"Uh-huh." He turned the page.

Kestral tried to refocus on the paper in front of her. It was supposed to be a general report on supplies consumed and required for the new archery barracks, but right now it looked more like a blur of inky smudges. The letters, hard to decipher at the best of times, were swimming before her eyes; her hand ached from grasping the quill. She blew her nose again, unnecessarily loudly.

"Die quietly," said Marcus.

She shot him a venomous glare. "Want me to cough on you?"

He ignored the threat, settling deeper in his seat. Kestral wrote a sentence, crossed it out, dipped her quill, wrote a different sentence, crossed _that_ out, and dropped the pen onto the parchment. She watched the ink trickle from the nib to the paper with disinterest, rubbing her temples. Of all the times to have a cold …

Footsteps outside the door, then Crimson Sabatt entered in a swish of red. The Guerannan woman sat in Kestral's favourite armchair with markedly more grace than the younger woman usually used.

"Where are the others?" asked Marcus, glancing up.

"I don't know. Out, somewhere." Sabatt stirred the fire, glancing with evident distaste out the window. "Westerlin has _lovely_ weather."

"Sarcasm. That's original." Kestral pinched the bridge of her nose. "Crimmy, could you do my report for me?"

Sabatt replaced the poker and turned to Kestral. "Do you think I got where I am today by foisting my paperwork onto others, gypsy?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" She closed her eyes momentarily, lids heavy. Sleep was really sounding like a fantastic idea right now.

"Not particularly."

"Thought so. Marcus, when's the ship coming in from Janub?"

"Tonight sometime. Which is precisely what I said last time you asked."

She groaned inwardly, scanning the paper in front of her. No chance of talking Wise Boy into doing her report, then; even if the storm didn't delay him, he'd be exhausted. And now that she'd spilled ink over half the sheet, she was going to have to start again.

A tiny page appeared in the doorway, bowing shyly. "Dinner is served."

Marcus bounded to his feet. "Coming, Kes?"

She shook her head wearily. "Nah, I'm not that hungry. I've got to get this done."

"Okay." He strode out. Sabatt followed more sedately, pausing at the door.

"Are you sure you're all right, bandit?"

"Don't worry 'bout me." Kestral hugged herself and smiled tiredly. "I'll be fine. Go eat."

Sabatt raised a skeptical eyebrow, but complied, leaving Kestral curled up at the desk as the wind howled.

…

The young woman shifted, eyes still clamped tight. The thunder of the previous evening had calmed to a steady patter against the glass.

Previous evening. _Oh, yikes. _

Kestral bolted upright, then coughed convulsively. The air of the chart room was freezing: the embers of the fire gave off no warmth at all; neither did the thin light from the window. Yet she wasn't cold – a blanket was half-wrapped around her, tangled with the cushions of the armchair.

Weird. Last thing she remembered, she'd been at the desk.

Staggering to unsteady feet, she walked over to that piece of furniture. The mess of handkerchief, ink and scattered papers of last night was gone. Instead, placed neatly in the centre, was a pile of papers covered in a neat, backslanted hand.

She picked them up and thumbed through them. It was her report on the new barracks. In Wise Boy's writing. She smiled faintly.

What _would_ she do without him?


	4. Crimson Sabatt's Guide To Not Being Evil

**Crimson Sabatt's Guide To Not Being Evil**  
><strong>By Lady Kestral of Gallos<strong>

_So, Crims, seeing that you seem to be finding this "being on the good guys' side" thing a little difficult, I thought I'd give you some advice. Here's some stuff that you do not do. Under any circumstances. Because it's either 1) extremely evil, 2) moderately evil, or 3) not very nice. Got that?_

- Do not put spiders in people's personal belongings. Not even little ones.

- Do not burn stuff.

- Do not put raisins in the cookies. It's a crime against nature.

- Oatmeal cookies are also a crime against nature.

- Marcus does not appreciate having all his razors stolen. Even if it doesn't actually make a difference.

- Putting green paint or hair dye on the inside of Alandra's cloak so that she looks like Khana is not funny. Well, okay, it is, but it's also sick and wrong.

- Filling my saddlebags with rocks is _very_ sick and wrong.

- Only _I_ am allowed to punch Hakim in the face.

_- Especially_ if he deserves it.

- Shoving Wise Boy into the harbour is not hilarious. It's downright dangerous.

- Shoving Elias into the harbour is fine. Go right ahead.

- If you are going to mock someone's intelligence, do it in a language they can understand. It's only fair.

- Don't make shocking revelations when Hakim is holding a teapot. Or anything breakable.

- Explosives are dangerous. Please keep them outside.

- "Outside" meaning outside the Vestholm city boundaries, preferably.

- Don't make Lani cry. It's not nice and it's not good for your long-term welfare if Lackbeard finds out.

- We all hate Saraya. That doesn't make it okay to publicly mock the poor kid.

- Wandering around town in full Crimson Sabatt regalia with a creepy look on your face scares small children.

- Forging money, orders from the Queen, and any other paperwork for your personal benefit is wrong.

- Forging my paperwork for me is fine.

_I suggest you stick this somewhere you'll see it every day. Preferably ever hour. Your mirror might be a good spot._

_Kes_


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